Post Epiphany

    A bunny hopped down the drive today. A bunny! We don't have bunnies, and this wasn't a farm bunny on the loose. He had huge floppy feet. A bona fide hare, he skittered, all lean body and wary wild eyes. Where was he going? He didn't say. He didn't stay. He seemed hungry and a bit hunted. I like to think he settled into the unused dog house for a snooze, that round the corner he found rest.

   Tonight, we dim the interior lights, but not as dark as I wish, for math is still moving minds. And I realize, I'm not ready to move on. Not ready for a new year, new season, or new efforts, am I. I'm still trying to recover from the past year, and here we are in a new one.

   I must admit, I'm very glad to be finished with the Twelve Days of Christmas series. By day twelve, I really disliked, even detested, the Shutterstock images I'd chosen to use. The ending just was. It lacked sparkle, but that's okay. The Word always eclipses words. Epiphany worked its way to the end without fireworks, but dance we did. The ceili called us and we answered. We ended Epiphany learning new dances, laughing, and holding hands with strangers, all jigs and smiles.

   Tomorrow is write night. I've nothing prepared to share with the women whose opinions and expertise I esteem. We are missing one. She passed away on Christmas Eve and will be sorely missed. I'm not ready to present words or miss her presence. But go, I shall.

   We'll gather. A band of writers and illustrators who write and draw because the pen is part of us. With brush, stylus, or pencil stroke, we find a voice, share and receive wisdom, and laugh. In spite of sorrows and joys, we show up. We work something fierce, or at least give it all we got. 

   One moment at a time, that is my epiphany. I'm showing up this year. I'm present. I'm praying! I'm writing. One promise each day.

  "They will come trembling to the Lord and to His blessings in the last days."

  She dims the lights, as he yells, “Hurry, hurry, it's 7:58.” He asks if he can take the candle. “I have one minute, one minute to get in bed.” They are racing towards the dark, holding the light.

Papa must have promised them a story.